


The gardener's diary

by PaigeLTS05



Series: Renegade AU Journals and Diaries [2]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Gen, Nightmares, Paranormal Investigators, character: unnamed gardener, character: unnamed paranormal investigator, mentions the bite of 87
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-21 03:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30015447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaigeLTS05/pseuds/PaigeLTS05
Summary: The diary of a gardener who used to work at Freddy's who wishes for nothing more than to be a total nobody.I think you know who this dairy belongs to.
Series: Renegade AU Journals and Diaries [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2208036
Kudos: 1





	1. Fredbear

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1: http://aminoapps.com/p/zkhrdg

31/01/1998

I've had non-stop nightmares for the past week. A yellow suit is all I remember. Each night, it becomes clearer, but I could never tell which one it was until tonight. Tonight, I was back at Fredbear and friends on that unfortunate day, yet instead of a whole party, it was simply me, Fredbear, and my son hanging from Fredbear's jaw.

I know that that incident didn't kill him, but I feel like if it wasn't for this incident, both him, his brother, and thier friends would still be alive. Perhaps not. Perhaps this outcome was always my former bosses intent.

Regardless, imagery of Fredbear lurking in my mind has kept me awake until the early hours of the morning for several weeks now, and I doubt that I shall be able to sleep, least the image of Fredbear's bloodied maw creep into my head and burn itself into my mind's eye once more.

I cannot live like this.

01/02/1998

I have had to remove every yellow flower from my garden. The colour scares me now. I look at the colour and only see those two animatronics and a testament to my greatest mistakes.

I don't know why, but remembering that bear hurts me more than remembering what I did that summer. Perhaps it's because that was the first true disaster that was truly out of my hands.

I know two incidents happened regarding Fredbear prior, yet one was my fault, and the other was someone else's self contained accident.

Funnily enough, neither of these incidents have become the subject matter of my nightmares, and for that, I am greatfull to my mind for granting me at least some form of respite by sticking to one thing, even though seeing someone with thier arm trapped in the torso of a spring lock suit would be far easier on my mind.

Whilst desensitisation may be the path to no longer fearing the image of Fredbear, I feel as if I need to allow myself to free myself of his influence during the daylight hours.

02/02/1998

An former colleague of mine decided to visit.

He wanted a copy of the keys to Fredbear's family diner.

I know that they never changed the locks, so I gave him my old key. If my former boss wants me to go back there, well, he will see that my skills are just as sharp as they've always been via first hand demonstration.

Regardless of my little rant, the keys are in the hands of someone who wishes to aid investigation into the incidents at Freddy's now.

After he left, I decided to go to the garden centre with my daughter. She likes looking at the fish, and I need new flowers.

We picked out some nice green, red, and indigo flowers to replace the yellow ones. Yet whilst we were there, my daughter picked up a plush toy of a cream bear. I must have stood in the middle of the shop like a gormless idiot for several minutes at least, as all I remember after was a member of staff asking me if I was ok and asking my daughter if I was on any medication. I just told them that I hadn't slept much recently, and they seemed to take that as an answer.

I brought my daughter the plushie. I wasn't exactly about to let my "past life" as I call it, interfere with my new one. I left both my blade and Fredbear behind, and I intend to keep it that way.

With a cream bear plushie, several new flowers, and a new trowel purchased, we headed home and I begun planting the flowers.

Reflecting on what occurred at the store, I feel that my fear of Fredbear may be more deep rooted that it seems, if a plush cream bear toy can make me remembering the "poorly scheduled late bite I guess this is of 87 now", as my former boss had put it in a phone call with his boss, then who knows how deep this runs.

03/02/1998

There was a patch of yellow flowers that I didn't remove, and could never bring myself to remove. Even though the colour reminds me of Fredbear, I could never uproot those flowers.

04/02/1998

Whilst I did fall asleep last night, every part of me wishes I stayed awake. I never knew a dream could feel so long and be so horrifying.

The Fredbear didn't even look different to it's usual self, yet somehow, that was the most horrifying part.

The Fredbear in my dreams was identical to the Fredbear in real life.

The images of it's bloodied mouth will not leave my mind. My brain seems to be bent on remembering every last detail down to the texture of the fur.

If I write down every single detail, then I should be able to purge the image from my mind.

It's ears; small squares, golden in colour. The hat; a shiny purple. The eyes; silver marbles with a ring of green to imitate an iris. Animatronic eyes used to be made incredibly cheap, but these hit a balance between tacky and haunting. The face; rounded but wide, and cut off abruptly at the bottom of the cheeks. The jaw; flat. Covered in blood. What teeth weren't stained red were pure white. The body; fat and fuzzy, with more blood down its front matting it's hair than you'd be able to imagine. The bowtie; formerly the same shiny purple as the tophat, now completely covered in blood, bearly any of the material visible underneath. The arms; chunky and patches of fur missing, revealing the painted carapace underneath. The hand; no fur, simply painted metal. The microphone; the same shiny purple as the tophat, a spike coming off the bottom of the microphone.

That is all I remember.

I hope I don't remember any more.

05/02/1998

My former colleague visited me again.

He seemed shaken, and just as scared of Fredbear as I was, but for a different reason.

"A possessive state", "wanting to carry around and protect the head of the animatronic". It genuinely sounds like less of a Fredbear problem, but like more of a generalised yellow bear animatronic problem.

Wether his issue is due to forced subservience to golden Freddy, or a genuine protective urge for anything that reminds him of his dad - his dad's death included - all I know if that this is an issue best addressed by avoiding Fredbear.

For once, I guess we're in the same boat.


	2. Molten Freddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: http://aminoapps.com/p/t4dntfo

07/02/1998

Whilst my nightmares have not ceased, I do believe I have more urgent issues at hand. Last night, whilst I was sleeping, something dug itself a shallow grave in my garden.

I do believe it is some kind of animatronic, so I called the police. Whilst I do not have the best reputation, I used the code phrase to tell them I had an animatronic related issue before they even asked for my name.

It's better that way.

Regardless, they put me on the line with the officer in charge of animatronic related incidents, a former colleague of mine.

This setup mirrors a certain incident quite closely, so he had decided to come in person to ensure it is safe, as digging it up before we know what it is may cause more harm than good.

After all, it could be a trap.

08/02/1998

It has just turned midnight, so it is now the eighth. We've been watching the disturbed soil for a few hours now, and something has just emerged.

A metal tendril.

My former colleague, for simplicity's sake, let's just call him 'the officer', shall we, seemed confused. Whilst the setup was identical to the twisted incident that occured some time last year, the machine was certainly not of that design.

More tendrils emerged from the ground, and the head of an animatronic bear dragged itself up after. That's all that machine appeared to be: a head and cables.

It's looking this way, and I'm certain it can see us.

It's slowly crawling towards the house. The officer does have a stun gun, and I have a trowel (trust me, in my hands, such gardening tools become deadly weapons), so we should be able to hold if off.

However, I fear this machine is intelligent. I fear it harbours a spirit. The officer seems to suspect this too, as he sent the ghost possessing him to check.

By the time the ghost got back, the animatronic is actually scraping at the door.

The machine is posessed by a woman.

Somewhere between late forties and mid fifties, apparently.

The scraping at the door doesn't sound like something trying to get in. It sounds like a hunter tormenting thier prey.

It seems to be amused by my fear. As if she didn't know that I could be scared.

I don't have enough evidence to support my hypothesis, but I do believe that I know who is possessing this machine.

[There is a line that is too shaky to read to the point that it's illegible]

Damn it. She's scraping on the glass. It's like nails on a chalkboard. It made such an indescribable noise that I couldn't even write.

It seems satisfied for now.

It went back to its hole and reburied itself.

08/02/1998, morning.

Me and th officer slept in shifts, keeping an eye on the animatronics hiding place. As crowds and an investigative atmosphere may cause this machine to lash out, we have opted to keep this 'on the down-low' and deal with it with the fewest number of people possible.

He called someone to bring shovels. Now we have had a good look at it, we know what it looks like. It may have trapped it's shallow grave of a hiding spot, but now know that it's not solely a trap: it is an active threat.

We will be attempting to dig her up.

***

So she stole a shovel. We started digging, and after we hit metal, a car shot out of the mud and wrapped itself around the officers shovel before attempting to drag both him and the shovel underground. Luckily, he knew that trying to keep the shovel was a lost cause so let go.

The shovel was thrown back up to us in four pieces, so neither of us want to know what would have happened if he would have been dragged down too.

It seems that digging it up is a lost cause, and we have to attack it when it emerges, which will likely be on its own terms.

We set up cameras and motion sensors so we won't have to constantly be observing a patch of mud.

09/02/1998

Midnight

The motion sensors have just gone off. They haven't gone off all day. Expected, but still.

It seemed to wait for us to watch it before it crawled out.

It seems to be enjoying the fear that it's causing. Depending on if my hypothesis stands, this could be her. Even if this is not her directly, it's certainly her work. I always knew under that clueless exterior she harboured skills beyond understand.

[There seems to be a blood smear on the paper, and the writing seems a lot shakier]

She broke in. She started off scratching the doors but she just punched it and it broke. There's glass and wood splinters everywhere. It immediately headed for me, and whilst I was able to hold it off for a little bit with my trowel and cut a few important looking cables, she managed to pin me to the floor.

Whilst I was down, she told me I had "outlived my usefulness", and "had to go, and would rather take it into her own hands to ensure it's carried out".

I expected to hear the voice coming from Funtime Freddy's voice box, but instead, it was the ghost speaking to me directly.

She would have tore my throat out if it wasn't for the officer managing to hit it with a stun gun.

That was enough to get her to retreat back to her hole for now.

09/02/1998, Daytime

We put up a peice of plywood as a door. It's not safe to try and replace it, and why bother? It'll just get torn down anyway. I can't let my daughter stay here whilst the house is in this state.

I brought it up in a conversation, and on the subject of staying somewhere safer, my daughter has gone to the officer's house. He has a daughter about the same age as mine, so she thinks that I'm letting her have a sleepover.

On the other hand, now that we don't need a back line if defence and we know that the animatronic is interested in me and not her, my wife has decided to join us keeping an eye out for when Molten Freddy will resurface.

We all know about the rule of threes in literature, and I know for a fact that the ghost controling Molten Freddy was into literature, so it's likely she was planning her main attack for the third night from the start. That would explain her retreating, as I feel that even after getting zapped, she could have easily still killed me.

Now, we wait.

10/02/1998, Midnight

I know tonight will be the final attack.

Each second she waits feels like hours to me, and she knows this. She's the exact sort of person to draw out torment like this. As I write this, looking out the window at the patch of mud, I see it stir, and I know she's there. She's waiting for just enough time to pass.

Any minute now.

Everyone is silent.

I rarely cry, but the fear may just be enough to push me over the edge, and I swear, she can smell weakness, so I can't let it show.

I have to at least try and

[Nothing is written on the next few pages. The only thing on the paper is a few blood splatters. The handwriting is even shakier than yesterday's.]

I can't believe I survived.

One moment, I'm writing - bearly even for a second - the next, I get a face full of glass and get thrown to the ground.

I managed to push my arm into its mouth before it could get it's jaws around my neck, but that came at the cost of pain. Those teeth are roughly sewing needle shaped, and they feel like them too. It's one thing to prick your finger whilst sewing. It's another for a mouthful of them to dig two inches into your arm.

Despite the risks, I made sure it didn't open its mouth in order to buy time for my wife and the officer to hack at it enough for it to seem to want to leave me alone, likely due to being too damaged to continue the mission and not get obliterated in the process.

After it let go of me, apparently I passed out.

They told me that after I passed out, they had damaged it enough for it to try and retreat again, but instead of running out the back door, it went out the front and into the street. The officer said that the animatronic hopped into the back of an unmarked van that sped off as soon as the animatronic was on board.

It seems that Fazbear Entertainment treats it's undead higher ups well.

Regardless, she gets to report a mission failure, and I get to live another day.


End file.
